


Wolf and Raven

by Myadog3



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Smut, no beta we die like drengrs, wow tagging for AC:V seems to be a mess lmao too many different sagas...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28667487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myadog3/pseuds/Myadog3
Summary: Y'all really made me march down here and write smut for this rat bastard (affectionate.)Anyways... OC since I think Eivor has too much self respect to f!ck this idiot and also I wanted more ~magic~ in the story (magic being spells not like, romance) hence volur (volva) OC. Its just gonna basically follow canon with little dalliances here and there so they can bang. Yes I'm playing the game, yes I know what happens...Chapters with smut marked with *
Relationships: Ivarr Ragnarsson/OC
Comments: 14
Kudos: 31





	1. Arrival in Repton

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all weren't thirsting for my manz enough so I had to write the smut I wished to see in the world... To shut me up uhhhhh write Ivarr smut I beg. 
> 
> Also when I say enemies to lovers I mean she is annoyed by him but also ;) and he makes sex "jokes" but is also ;) 
> 
> Its not beta-d but if you see an error lmk otherwise I shall retreat forever in my shame.

“What are your thoughts, Volur?” Eivor asked the woman riding behind her. 

Maeve surveyed the settlement as its inhabitants examined their guests. They seemed cautious of the newcomers, despite their Norse dress. There was a twitching at the back of her head, like an itch, only inside… The anxiety from many eyes all on them at once.

“I sense this place holds many secrets, as do its people.” Maeve replied.

“I asked for your thoughts, not your prophecy.” Eivor joked.

“Ah yes, of course. I think it is odd that the villagers are wary of us. We appear as Norse do we not? Are they scared of their own people?” Maeve asked.

“I too would be wary of outsiders, no matter the colors they wore. We do not yet have the sons of Ragnar's allegiance. We must be careful.” Eivor finished. Maeve nodded silently and they continued deeper into the heart of the city. If it was true these people held them no loyalty, it would be best to remain on guard. 

\--------------

“Sister!” Sigurd called out as the rider’s neared the center of the village. Eivor waved and spurred her horse onward. Maeve nudged her mare into a trot and followed behind Eivor. Eivor lept from her horse and ran to Sigurd. After so many years without contact, it must come as a delight each time they were reunited safely. The viking siblings embraced and clapped each other roughly on the back. Maeve dismounted and walked up slightly behind them.

“Eivor! I introduce to you Ubba Ragnarsson, leader of this clan.” Sigurd explained, gesturing to a large tattooed man just outside the tent. The man named Ubba locked hands with Eivor in salute. He looked beside Eivor to Maeve, questioning. 

“Ah, this is my Volur. My aide in all matters mystical.” Eivor said, and Maeve bowed before him. Ubba looked to Sigurd. 

“And you trust these two with our plans?” Ubba asked. Sigurd looked from Eivor to Maeve.

“I would trust them with my life.” He replied. Ubba nodded. Maeve knew that Sigurd’s trust in her was based on that of Eivor. She wondered what Eivor had told him of the prophecy of Valka. Nonetheless, this was their current mission.

“My brother should be here if we are to discuss this now.” Ubba said to Sigurd. 

“My Volur can retrieve him while you catch me up. Where is he located?” Eivor offered. Maeve raised an eyebrow and Eivor scratched the side of her eyebrow with her thumb. The signal was clear: get a read on the other brother and report back to her later. 

“I believe he is in the longhouse in the center of the village.” Ubba gestured in the general direction. 

Maeve bowed and turned down the path. 

“Good luck to you, Volur.” Sigurd laughed. 

\-------------

Before Maeve even entered the building, she could hear the screams. She stepped inside the building to a torture scene. A dark haired man was tied and squirming in the air while a blindfolded man heated a sword over the coals. Yet another man pulled the winch the captive’s rope was tied to even higher with a mighty creaking noise. The suspended man must have heard her footsteps on the stone, for he called out for help despite facing away from her. She cocked her head, examining him, but not replying. 

“Who stands before Ivarr Ragnarsson? Are you Sigurd’s drengr? Aygor!” The man with the winch cried. She had found her quarry. Her eyes snapped to the shirtless viking. 

“I am a cohort of Sigurd’s drengr Eivor. I have come to fetch you, but I shan't interrupt...” Maeve replied, gesturing in reference to the puddle of blood forming below the hanged man’s body.

“The place could use some color.” Ivarr grinned wickedly, gesturing to the grand greyness of the great hall. 

Maeve raised an eyebrow at him, she was not familiar with the practice of decorating an interior in blood.

“All spies.” Ivarr explained. “Dressed to look the part of a peasant. Got feisty.” Ivarr led the blind man towards the squirming body swinging in the air. The red hot point of the man's sword was coming dangerously close to the flesh of their captive. Ivarr gestured to the man's blindfold. “Pitchfork. From this rabid little one… There was a time when you met and slew your enemy on the field before they could dream of things like-” Ivarr slapped the blindman on the back before continuing through gritted teeth “-sending spies!” The hanged man screamed as the near molten iron of the sword tip met his bare skin. 

Maeve rolled her eyes when Ivarr could not see. He seemed too young to be making such speeches of the past. She knew he had led the heathen army and its assault on king Ælla. That did not mean that he had learned the ins and outs of mortal men. 

“And what of shaking hands and making deals?” Maeve asked, for that was truly what the raven clan was there to do. Was this alliance feasible if this man were to partake in it?

“Not my thing.” Ivarr replied. Maeve could have guessed as much. Ivarr walked around the whimpering spy. “I love them whipped, weeping, and reeking of piss.” 

He had her on the ffirst two, but lost her continuing. Had he shut up for more than a few seconds following her arrival, she could have regarded his body more appreciatively. He was well built, with tattoos highlighting the various planes of his body. He had a huge scar across the majority of his face. This scar was intriguing to her. Caused by a flail perhaps? 

The lack of scandal involving the nude form was something she missed from the Danes. The more time she spent on Saxon shores the more she found herself becoming a prude like its occupants. She took a kind of glee in seeing his battle scars laid bare to the world. It was no subtle display of strength for enemies to see all the wounds he had suffered and yet survived. 

Ivarr called on the blind man, paying him for his deed and commending him like one would a pet who first behaved. She was wondering how long this little speech of his would continue before she would have to manipulate him to their destination. 

“You’re free, Saxon piggy, free to run amok in the Mercian fields.” Ivarr finished, planting a mocking and hateful kiss on the spy’s sweating brow. 

With an axe, Ivarr cut the man down and collected his coat. The man's body hit the ground at an odd angle with a sickening crunch. Ivarr came to stand by Maeve. She was pleased to find that he did not, in fact, reek of piss as she had expected. That was one more saving grace of vikings. They did not fall into the same category as the other Europeans, who took to the soap and baths but once a year or worse... 

Maeve waited for Ivarr to fasten his bracers and watched as a pool of blood spread from the victim on the floor.

“And do you have someone to clean up all your... Color?” She asked, gesturing to the corpse on the ground. Ivarr glanced back at the body, seeming as though the result of the drop was surprising to him. 

“Huh.” Was Ivarr’s sole answer as he turned to the other exit of the building. “Follow me. I’ll give you the tour.” 

They stepped back out into the center of camp. Ivarr gestured to their takings. “I call it the shithole! To the Mercians, it is Repton.” He explained. 

Maeve followed silently behind him as he regaled her with the origins and current occupancy of Repton. He seemed uninterested in their occupation, but still annoyed that the Mercians had not completely let up their lands after the viking arrival. Maeve gathered that the meeting they were at was likely to discuss the last holdout of the Mercians to the Dane invasion. This old king and his champion were the last true Mercians for the area. Ivarr was far more lenient with information than his brother had been. 

She could sense some tension between Ivarr and his brother. The source of it was hidden to her. It was likely his grandstanding in the hall had been an expression of this recent frustration. There were worse ways one could cope. And, there were better… 

His feelings were not as clear as the average person. They all seemed stuck together like the discarded wax drippings at the bottom of a candle holder. All marks of him melted and twisted and bleed together in his face and body language. No dark secret or specific murderous intent lurked at the surface. But their mother had been somewhat of a mystic herself... Perhaps he had gained some training in masking himself to augurs? 

Ubba had not read the same as Ivarr though, he was far more transparent. There was no scent of double crossing when they met at the tent. Although Ubba may have less to hide, if he had offered the olive branch to the crows in the first place. It seemed he may need more than they yet understood. 

“Big talkers, Ubba and Sigurd. Might want to dig the wax from your ears. Is this Eivor a big talker as well? I assume you are not.” He joked at her cold countenance. 

“Like me, Eivor will speak only when there is something worth speaking to.” Maeve replied. 

“Ha! You bite subtle but fierce, like a vipress, raven-hair.” He said. They continued the rest of their walk to the meeting in silence, not once did he look back to see if she was still following. 

As they arrived at the tent, they could hear loud words of argument between Ubba and a strange woman. They were arguing over silver. It seemed the woman wanted more than she was paid whereas Ubba was setting staunch boundaries. They swapped heated words at each other until Ivarr drew a knife from his belt and stabbed it into the table. 

“If I wanted to hear you talk shit, I’d cut off your tongue and shove it up your ass. Now fuck off.” He hissed. Maeve chuckled then quickly covered her smirking mouth with her hand when the others turned to look. Ivarr winked at her, leaning against the war table. Maeve rolled her eyes, stepping aside so the woman could leave the tent. 

“Haggling over silver is a bad look for the son of Ragnar Lothbrok. But worry not Ubba, I have the warriors you need.” Sigurd gestured to Eivor and Maeve. They explained the plan. They were to capture the sitting king and have him forsake the crown in favor of their chosen other, a Saxon man named Ceolwulf.

For such a simple plan, they seemed to take their sweet time discussing it. No matter, Maeve was there to watch, and listen. Maeve observed as best she could the readings from the others in the tent. 

Ivarr’s demeanor had changed. He seemed uninterested with their current topic, bored to the point of napping, nearly. Ivarr must have been employing some sort of defensive technique to her scrying. Or perhaps he carried a talisman somewhere on his body that blocked her magic. It bothered her, but intrigued her, much as his scars had. She was interested in finding the source behind both. 

Ubba seemed excited for the alliance, as if perhaps it were sorely needed. Something he did not seem to want to let on to Sigurd. Although this plan was foiled by the woman from earlier. Sigurd seemed to catch onto this too, realizing he was bargaining from a much stronger stance than he once thought he had. 

Eivor was anxious to hear her readings of their new supposed allies, quickly appealing to Ubba’s sense of warrior pride by beguiling him with a brief testament of poetry. Ivarr seemed uninterested in anything aside from smashing skulls. Ceowulf seemed ready to follow through and accept his new mantle. But who among them wouldn't? She wondered if his loyalty would remain with the sons of Ragnar after he was crowned. 

The Saxons seemed to have little sense of honor or loyalty. It was something they should watch out for, even though Ubba seemed to trust the man fully. Sigurd was ready to form the alliance, anxious even. Likely he was looking forward to their clans names being tied together. Maeve simply watched. Ubba encouraged them to take in the sights of Repton, in preparation for storming the gates of Burgred’s keep. 

Eivor did not hesitate to pull Maeve aside after the meeting adjourned.

“What have you learned?” Eivor asked. 

Maeve shared her initial impressions of the group. Maeve asked Eivor if she knew of any talisman or glamour Ivarr may possess that would keep her from gleaning his true feelings from what he presented to the world. Eivor knew of no such thing. This worried the both of them, especially after Maeve shared the circumstances of their meeting. If anyone was on uncertain territory with the crow’s new alliance based solely on first impressions, it could be Ivarr. 

Maeve mentioned her concerns about Ceowulf as well, how she did not understand his acceptance of a phantom kingship under the rule of the Danes. Eivor had caught the same suspicion and was not entirely sated by his answers in the palaver. 

“I want you to sail with them to Tamworth, learn what more you can about Ivarr and Ceowulf. I will stay here to restock our stores and ask the townspeople their feelings on this new kinship.” Maeve nodded in agreement, then hit her fist against Eivor’s in parting. “Remember Volur, that the chain snaps at its weakest link.” Eivor said, pulling her hood up and fading back into the shadows. 

Maeve watched as Eivor disappeared into the local crowd. The feeling of separation from the drengr was acute. Eivor understood their mission here better than Maeve. The weight of responsibility had finally settled itself onto the witch’s shoulders. There was a large fear that she would make the wrong choices in the Ravenclan’s stead. 

Maeve, who while reared  _ near _ viking culture, still grew separate from it, from a purely observational point. Valka was better with the vikings. She had worked with them closely for so many years. Dream induction and interpretation was in high demand, which, unfortunately, had not fallen into the scope of Maeve’s mystic talents. In times of peace, the ability to sense and influence the way of nature was not as useful as merely waiting to see what would unfold. Shifting the heavens to favor the farmers' crops was the one use she had served in all her time at Rygjafylke. 

This of course, was why Valka had suggested Maeve travel with Eivor to England while she tended to Svala. The older seer was not Maeve’s blood in the way Valka was anyway. New friends and the potential for foes provided an outlet where Maeve’s brand of magic may be better suited. 

Ubba’s men were packing for their travels. Maeve stepped up to Sigurd, who was still chatting with the viking jarl. They silenced quickly at her arrival. 

“If it does so please you, Eivor sends me in her stead while she familiarizes herself with Repton.” Maeve explained. 

Ubba regarded her with suspicion. 

“And what is it exactly you offer to this alliance? Eivor mentioned that you were Volur, but did not elaborate further. In my clan, it is unusual for one of your talents to peruse the battlefield. I have heard of Valka and her mother Svala. They took you in as a young one did they not?” Ubba asked. 

“Both her and Eivor were welcomed into our clan at a young age. Much in the same way. Perhaps that is why their friendship formed.” Sigurd offered. Ubba continued staring at Maeve, hoping for more elaboration. 

Eivor and Maeve had agreed that it would be best to keep the wider extent of Maeve’s abilities, namely, her ability to read the flow of emotions of those she was near, secret. Anyhow, Maeve had enough magic to settle little superstitious rituals in her favor. 

“I am connected to nature in a way stronger than most. I can read it and in turn shift it towards certain whims.” Maeve said. This was, after all, the most simplistic explanation of her abilities. Humans were a part of nature in the same way the thunder, roots, and rocks were. Although, humans tended to be more temperamental in their influence. 

“Connected how? You are fucking the rivers or-?” Ivarr joked, causing Ubba to frown deeper. 

Maeve remained silent, stooping to pick up a chopped wooden stake from the ground. She withdrew her axe from her hip and used the side of it to drive the branch into the soft grass. She knelt beside it, drawing the carved haft of her axe across the top of the stake, creating a very quiet rumbling noise. Maeve continued this way for a few more strokes, scraping a deep rhythmic pattern into the earth. 

“Are we supposed to be impressed by th-” Ivarr started, bored.

“Hush brother. Look!” Ubba said, gesturing to the ground at their feet. Dozens of fat pink earthworms had squirmed to the surface. Their blanche slimy flesh shone stark against the deep greens of the ground. They all seemed to be fleeing the sound the stick in the earth was making in a large circle. Sigurd turned and looked around himself as the creatures burst through the topsoil and wriggled away from Maeve’s makeshift alarm. 

Once the men seemed satisfactorily disturbed by the exodus of worms, Maeve stood and slipped her axe back into its loop on her waist. She bowed to Ubba’s shocked face. As soon as the worms had emerged, so too did they dig back into their home in the peat. 

“I have never seen such a thing in all my years.” Ubba said, not quite sure how to respond.

“I’m afraid it's only useful if you intend to line fish.” Maeve said. She frowned at Ivarr who was rolling his eyes.

“Or convince people you are a Volur.” Sigurd suggested. 

“Oh please, I could do that. Hand me your axe.” Ivarr said, holding his hand out to Maeve. She obliged him.

“I will warn you, Ragnarsson, that I have tried to teach others many times and have always failed. Do not let it wound your pride if you do not succeed.” Maeve simpered. The knack of it was something one either had or had not. Although, like she had said, it wasn't a particularly useful magic unless one needed an over abundance of worms. 

Sure enough, a time after he had started, Ivarr stood up in frustration. He threw Maeve’s axe with miraculous force, lodging it into a nearby tree. 

“What the fuck is this folly anyway. We need to set sail to Burgred for gods sake.” Ivarr huffed. He turned to the docks and stomped off. 

“I warned him.” Maeve scoffed and walked to retrieve her axe. Ubba turned to Sigurd. 

“You’ll find that my brother is not particularly fond of anything near the perception of losing.” 

“That's unfortunate, my sister says the same about her volur.” Sigurd replied. Ubba let his head fall into his hand. Maeve was standing at the tree with her leg braced on the truck trying in vain to rip out the axe. 

“Then we’re in for a swell boat ride.” Ubba said.

\-------------

Maeve stood with her back to the boat's figurehead, frowning heavily. For the better part of the last few hours she had been listening to one of the crows and Ivarr swap increasingly unbelievable stories of conquest, both of the carnage and the carnal kind. 

It was a tactical decision on her part to remain silent as much as she could. The more she volunteered for free, the more others would have against her. Even a tone could betray someone. Perhaps that was her own assumption that had been induced by her abilities. 

Even still, she was having trouble keeping quiet. Her teeth had been bit into her lip so deep she kept mentally reminding herself to let up or there would be blood.

“That's the thing with Saxon women you know, they scream more than ours.” Ivarr grinned wickedly. The scream he described was not referring to striking terror into the hearts of the heathens. Before she even realized she was saying it, Maeve was snapping back with her mind’s first thought.

“Maybe you’ve never given a viking woman anything to scream about.” She chastised herself mentally as she finished. Both the crow and Ivarr turned to look at her. She had, for the first time since they set sail, broken her silence. 

“And what would you know of it, volur? Fucked many Saxon women?” Ivarr quipped. He was irritating her anew. She had prayed that her comment would finally shut them up. It was not to be so. 

“Please, the Saxon’s would squeal with delight just to be touched by someone who was not thirty years their senior. Perhaps they were confused by you.” Maeve snapped. The crow sucked in a quick breath and looked at Ivarr. It was hard to read his reaction to her comment from his face. He stood quickly and strut to the back of the boat where she was standing, it was like a mongoose cornering a mouse. 

Maeve made a move to step back, but the wooden mast of the boat caught her in the back, preventing backwards movement. So instead her fingers flicked to her axe, slipping a finger under the head if need required a quick draw from its sheath. 

He stared slightly down at her, his scar standing starkly out against his skin. She stuck her chin up at him. She had her share of scars, and was not to be intimidated. Maeve had fought and scraped and battled to be where she was at the moment. Such was not an easy feat, not quickly won either. She would not tolerate a challenge to her status from him or anyone else, no matter their upbringing. 

If this was how their alliance was to be lost then so be it. Eivor would understand if nothing else. Maeve stepped forward from the mast a little, crossing her arms defiantly. She would not cede more ground. 

“And how old do you think I am, little crow?” He asked, taking a strand of her loose hair and tugging on it gently. A threat then? It was unusual to find a drengr of what she assumed was his age. He was older than Ubba after all, and their attack on Mercia had come while Maeve was still of student age in Rygjafylke.

“Old enough for your knees to creak when we disembark I'm sure.” Maeve challenged. The others who had been following their exchange nearby in the boat chuckled nervously. Ivarr scrutinized her face, seemingly deciding what to do with her insolence. His aura was strong, but still imperceptible to her. Perhaps she should not have removed her hand from her axe afterall… 

Then, a smile cracked across his face and he turned around to the others, laughing.

“It is clear this one has not yet seen me in battle!” He joked. The others took up laughing again, pleased by the break in tension. He turned back to her once the others had looked away from them.

“Do not worry for my sake volur, I think you will be surprised how-” His tongue darted out across his bottom lip lecherously “-limber, I can be.” He smirked. She rolled her eyes at him again. He reached out and tilted her chin down. 

It felt as if lightning had caressed her skin for just a moment. She gasped at his touch. Her perception of people had always been strengthened by physical contact, even if it was brief. He turned to move back to his place in the boat, unaware of what he had inclined her to. 

In a mere moment, a surge of lust had flowed through her. A reflection of his own no doubt. She braced herself back against the mast again and watched him sit down. It had caught her off guard for certain. 

She had heard that his nickname was the boneless. The crows had each their own speculation of the reasoning behind this moniker. She supposed even impotence did not mean he could not participate in the pleasures of the flesh. 

Maeve was inclined to curiosity. Perhaps age had not crushed his abilities in the same way it would for others. The scar across his scalp was a testament to his hardiness. With age came wisdom, with practice came mastery. Would Ivarr Ragnarsson be a formidable enough companion beneath the furs? For such a strange and seemingly cruel man, he held beguiling insights. 

She shut her eyes, breaking her vision away from his visage. She was not here to indulge her desires. 

This is not what their mission was. The Ravenclan would always come first. It was impossible for her to separate just how much of this new interest in him was a result of the exchange of his emotions and how much of it was organically from herself. Volur did not take partners. They were allowed to have children in order to carry on their craft, but Maeve had never been inclined for descendants. She had forsaken her fertility to Freya a long time ago in pursuit of greater power. 

For a detached volur and a sterile drengr separated by time, it was a poor match. Perhaps therein lay the allure. She was pleased that the promise of near battle would distract her mind from this folly. 

  
  



	2. Taking Tamworth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I primarily put all my upgrade points into stealth shit so when we had to legit square up in Tamworth in that one mission I was shrieking. I also mainly followed Ivarr around watching him get pushed around by the guard npcs and not kill them I was like babe wyd. Oh anyway this is the chapter they take Tamworth in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buenos dias Maeve jksdghsfjg

The shores of Tamworth were calm upon their approach. An amount of the Ragnarssons forces were already camped along the banks. The silhouette of the fortress rose tall in the background. Their arrival had been masked by mist. She had not summoned it, which increased her appreciation of it. The gods were with them on this day. 

Maeve lept from the longship into the shallow water of the river bank. She was desperate to feel the earth under her feet once more. She sighed as the cool water flooded her leather boots and cooled her feet. The breeze off the moor caressed her cheek gently, lifting errant strands of hair from her head. She would not sacrifice her connection to the earth for any other powers or riches. 

A slap on her ass snapped her out of her revelry. 

“Worry not, here there will be worms aplenty to summon to our cause.” Ivarr joked, striding past her through the water. Maeve pulled her axe from its loop and hooked Ivarr’s belt with its curved blade edge. He quickly reached the end of its lead and she ripped him back. He turned to look at her, brow furrowed in annoyance. She was used to the various groping and grabbing of the uncultured warriors. It was far more bothersome to feel the spark of lust his touch carried. 

“Do not presume to mock me, Ragnarsson.” She commanded. She summoned magic. The sky rumbled with thunder after her words. Ivarr looked to the sky, nonplussed. 

“Then strike me down with a bolt from Thor.” He suggested. When she did not, he unhooked her axe from his belt and turned back around. 

She followed behind the others to the encampment. They would wait for Eivor before they attacked. 

\-------------

Maeve surveyed the Shirelands. It was lush green country out here. She could see why the Saxons were so hesitant to give it up. She glanced back at the rest of the camp. Ivarr had insisted Ceowulf’s heir Ceolbert come with them to the battle. Maeve thought this was a risky idea. Ceowulf was not yet king and yet already his heir was in danger. She had tried to voice this to the brothers, but Ubba had found this not compelling enough a reason to send the son back, much to Ivarr’s glee. Wherever the boy was, she hoped he was a good enough warrior to weather the battle ahead. 

Annoyance fluttered in Maeve’s head. Each time she spoke with Ivarr she left feeling more childish and foolish than before. She cursed her lot to be paired to this task. Eivor always had a better retort or scathing comment laying just beneath her tongue. And Eivor would not be cursed with the knowledge Maeve was. Ivarr’s touch would not scald her so. 

Her fingers fluttered against her axe head, she was anxious for the battle ahead. A great deal of emotion could be used to fuel her blades in battle. She would love to hammer some of this irritation into the skull of a Saxon. She prayed Eivor would arrive with a bow. Maeve’s own had long been snapped in two by Kjotve, and time had not yet allowed for a replacement. 

Her own bow had been a thing of wonder. A steel blade adorned its tip for melee attacks. The runes of Hel were carved into the haft. She missed the stealth the bow had allowed her. Maeve had always been smaller than Eivor. She had not the stocky bulk frame that powered the drengr’s crippling attacks. Maeve’s agility was her strength and striking from the darkness was her power. 

The axe on her hip felt more her tool than a weapon. It had felled more trees than it had men. Even throwing knives would suit her better than the crude unbalanced steel. There was no blacksmith here, and little time to forge such things anyway. 

“You seemed troubled, volur.” Ivarr said, leaning against a tent peg and chewing an apple. He had a young blond Saxon boy with him who bowed slightly to Maeve. Maeve nodded to the child.

“This is a care of yours why?” Maeve replied. 

“It's not.” Ivarr said, tossing the apple core to the ground. “I simply wished to offer a distraction.” 

Maeve raised an eyebrow. 

“Come with me to my tent.” The boy beside him gasped at the bluntness with which he spoke. Maeve believed he was saying such in front of the boy purely to scandalize him. 

“You look a woman who can handle a proper Norse plowsword.” He suggested. The Saxon boy blushed deeply then bid them goodbye, sprinting back to the main tent. 

“Trying to teach the boy how to pick up women?” Maeve joked. 

“Eh, Ceolbert can use as much help as he can get. Look at the poor bastard.” Ivarr said. 

“Ceolbert, son of Ceowulf?” Maeve asked. The names of Saxons seemed to follow as such. If that was Ceowulf’s heir, she prayed to the gods that he would hide himself during the battle. He seemed as unfamiliar with a sword as Ivarr was with proper courting rituals. She could see a world where Ceolbert fell in battle and their alliance with the Saxon thegn splintered before it began...

“Aye, although I’ll make a drengr out of him yet.” Ivarr said, taking out his axe and cleaning his nails with a point. “I did not ask you to join me solely for the pup's benefit. Why not warm my furs before your drengr arrives?” He suggested, aloof. 

She scoffed. Then broke into a smile. The smile flowed into laughter. She walked half past him, then stopped. Maeve scraped a nail across the stubble of his jaw. She caught the feeling of his yellowing surge of annoyance from where their skin met and grinned more. 

“Thank you for an amusing proposition.” Maeve smiled. She walked onwards into camp wearing a grin. He sneered at her back, watching the sway of her hips as she left him. It was rare that a son of Ragnar was denied so. 

\-------------

Eivor arrived by horse shortly after, bringing more warriors with her. She spoke with the leaders some more. Their current plan was to offer Bugred one more chance to forsake his crown and pass the kingdom over with no blood shed. Then they would storm the gates. 

“Sigurd tells me you and Ivarr don’t get along.” Eivor said, handing Maeve a Mercian bow. Leave it to Sigurd to tattle on her for their confrontation in and near the boat. 

Maeve thanked Eivor for the gift and bent it over her thigh to string it. It was not as fine as her bow before, but it would serve her far better than the axe. She twanged the taught bowstring and looked back to Eivor.

“He is proud and entitled. Prone to flights of fancy.” Maeve said, withdrawing an arrow from an iron holder.

“And you challenged him because of this?” Eivor asked as her companion nocked an arrow. Maeve pulled back the arrow to full draw. 

“No, I challenged him because he irritated me.” She released the bowstring and the arrow flew true across the field for many yards, knocking over an ale cup from a table. 

“I see you have not lost your eye my friend.” Eivor chuckled. “Should we worry about Ivarr?” 

“I think that would be wise. If he becomes bored or irate, I fear we may take steps back in Mercia where we wish to step forward.” Maeve explained, pulling the bow around her shoulders. 

“And Ceowulf?” Eivor asked. Maeve had not spent much time around Ceowulf since they landed. His son held an interesting development though. Already Ceowulf was involving his son in the workings of a kingdom that was not yet his. He was making an investment in his heir, meaning his ambition stretched beyond his own lifetime. 

“I think Ceowulf is too weak and transparent to pose any real threat to the Ragnarssons, us, or this alliance. Although he allows the sons of Ragnar to bring his heir into this camp. But the boy does not seem fit to the carnage of war. I fear if the boy is lost, his father may be too.” Maeve shoved arrows into her boots. She rarely carried a quiver, it took too long to access in battle, and was prone to tipping out during her more acrobatic movements. 

“I see. You have collected many insights in my stead. Ubba says to talk to his captain when we are ready to siege. Are you prepared to hear the spear din once more my friend?” Eivor asked. 

\-------------

The army of Danes had constructed a battering ram in order to break through to the city. Eivor led the charge as they wheeled the great thing to the gates. Their boots dug deep into the soft earth, the ground trembled as the battering ram rolled forward. On first contact the ram lurched backwards, splinters of wood fell around them. The gates were still holding. 

“Back again!” Eivor shouted to her crew. 

They ripped the battering ram through the mud once more. Others from their team clashed with guards descending the towers to try and attack the ram bearers. The clang of swords and axes rang through the air. Their companions struggled to keep the influx of mercenaries away from those pulling the craft. With all their attention devoted to hauling the great mass of wood and metal, the ravens had little change to defend themselves should it come to that. 

The vikings opposite and directly in front of Maeve fell suddenly with great screams. 

“Archers!” Eivor cried, bringing her shield up just in time to catch two arrows that flew from above. Maeve took off her bow and stepped back from the battering ram. She pulled an arrow from her boot and focused it on the guard directly above them. Maeve saw the tip of her arrow disappear into his eye socket before Eivor was yelling once more. 

“Maeve. Take those archers out.” She commanded. Maeve nodded, understanding what Eivor meant. She ran to the wooden walls of the keep, using her momentum to run up the side of the wood until gravity slowed her path. 

In so little words, Eivor had instructed her to take out the archers until they could break down the doors. Maeve’s hands dug into ropes and edges of the timbers. She hauled herself upwards, climbing the side of the keep. 

It was risky to do this, but they had succeeded at it before. It was rare for the archers to suspect that anyone was stupid enough to climb the side alone. All Maeve had to do was kill those that fired the arrow volleys to the battering ram. That, and survive in enemy lines long enough for reinforcements to arrive down below.

As she neared the top, a Saxon soldier leaned over the side and fired down to her companions below. They spotted each other at the same moment. Adrenaline filled Maeve’s blood. She watched in seeming slow motion as the archer reached for another arrow from their quiver. In parallel, Maeve held onto the wall with one hand as the other reached to her belt for her axe. 

Maeve was the quicker of the two. She swung the steel upwards, hooking the archer under the armpit and through the bone. Archer’s armor around the arms was bare to preserve range of motion, Maeve’s was the same which was how she knew. With a great pull she ripped the Saxon downward and over the side of the wall, they screamed as they fell behind her. 

With a great effort she pulled herself up to the archery platform that ran the length of the front of the keep. There was another guard mere feet from her. Maeve threw her axe one handed, she would get it back later... There was a moment of panicked confusion as the archers atop the wall realized that a Dane had managed into their ranks. 

This allowed Maeve to fire a stinging strike of arrows at those with the best viewpoints to those sieging below. She pulled arrows with lightning speed from her boots. The miniscule amount of extra time this setup allowed her made all the difference against other archers. Her body settled into its old battle pattern well. She ran across the top of the gates, chasing down those who tried to flee into the more defensible side towers. 

She passed atop the stairwell down into Tamworth, marking it in her memory for when she would need to rejoin her crew. That was, if the gods allowed her to survive atop this range for much longer.

“Shit.” Maeve said. She saw swordsmen from the courtyard below swarming to the ladders. She was of little good in close combat, especially without her axe, which was now well out of arm's reach away. She ran back to where she had thought she left it. She wretched it out of the back of a dead archer.

Maeve heard a roar beside her. One of the guards had made it up to her level. A pike man. Of course. It always had to be pikemen. Her axe was useless at this range, he would be able to dodge it easily, she would have to drop it and draw her bow if she were to be able to nock another arrow. 

There was time for neither, as it was. She turned to the side just in time and watched as the spear tip passed through the air where her head had just been. She grabbed the wooden haft before the wielder had time to recoil and jabbed it back to his body. He stumbled, knocked off balance for just a moment. Maeve swung her axe in the hopes of severing the spear tip from its haft. She was too slow. The pikeman swung the spear to the side, hitting Maeve square in the head and sending her reeling to the side.

As if in an earthquake, the wood beneath her shuddered and shook. The battering ram had breached the first wall. While the pikeman struggled to regain his footing, Maeve rolled to the side and off the lookout wall. Better the uncertainty of the fall than the certainty of the pikeman's speartip. The ground beneath her rushed up quickly to meet her. 

She had but mere seconds to take in her surroundings and adjust accordingly. She twisted and positioned herself to fall. Her feet hit the shoulders of a Saxon shoulder whose knees buckled under her weight, cushioning her fall. She buried her axe between the soldiers shoulder blades. Eivor cheered to see her friend reunited with their army once more. 

Maeve holstered her axe on her hip. She pulled her bow from her back and began pulling more arrows from her boots and firing them at the Saxons. She had landed once more behind their lines, giving her the element of surprise quick enough to unleash hell upon their ranks. 

Eivor struck out with her shield and flail, sending saxons flying with the impact of her hits. Beside her Sigurd swung his greatsword. The siblings fought well, side by side, after so many years of training against each other their fighting styles were complementary to one another. 

The Ragnarssons were much the same, fighting beside one another. Although, their years allowed for them to separate into their own distinct fighting styles. Ubba’s hits struck, targeted and true, seeking to slay or immobilize as many warriors as quickly as he could. His battle axe swung through the air with considerable, concentrated force. 

Ivarr was chaotic on the field moving unpredictably through the men. He was light on his feet, almost dancing his way through the battlefield. He would walk with one axe balanced on his back, as if resting or bored. Other times, he would crouch over a guard and beat their face into bright red mush with both axes. He flipped and dodged his way through. As if this battle happened just like all the other ones. 

His cool affront to any attempt to wound him was something to see. As if all the warriors in the world would hold no bother for him. Maeve looked away from watching as he struck down others. She wondered what it took to get a rise out of Ivarr Ragnarsson. 

Maeve collected more arrows from a dead Saxon’s quiver, stowing them quickly in her boot. They fought their way to the long house, where Bugred would surely be dug in with his most loyal men. The battle was of course, uphill from this point. Maeve did her best to take out the archers that poised above them, raining down arrows.

A scream caught her attention and she looked down an alley where one of the guards was holding one of the ravens by the braids and hitting them brutally with their fists. She reached to her boot for another arrow but found the leather empty. She ripped her axe from her side and ran to the raven, tackling the Saxon off their body. She swung her axe down on their head and felt them still beneath her. 

She looked back to her compatriot, hoping to offer them a hand up off the ground. Instead she watched as two guards pulled their swords out of the viking’s body. One of them kicked the axe away from their corpse. A cruel gesture if they knew what that meant. Maeve rolled off of the dead guard. She did not like the odds of two swords against one untrained axe. If she were to die on this day she would make certain she awoke in Valhalla, she gripped her axe tighter. 

One of the Saxons swung his sword up at her from the ground, a strange movement. It caught the underside of her axe and ripped it harshly from her hand. She felt a muscle in her shoulder pull. Her axe landed behind the two guards who were closing distance on her quickly. There was no way out of the alley. She could not climb up the sides of the houses quick enough to escape their steel.

“You should beg, little Dane.” One grinned, stroking his sword in a very obvious gesture. She spat at the ground at their feet, pulling her bow off of her back again. At the very least, she could hope to gouge one of them on her way out of this world. 

Suddenly both soldiers lurched and gurgled. Maeve frowned, unsure what was happening until they fell forward. An axe stuck out of each of their spines. Ivarr swaggered down the alley, tossing Maeve her axe which she caught one handed. He retrieved his weapons from the corpses of the men. 

“You should carry  _ two _ axes, raven-hair.” Ivarr winked and then stepped out of the alley to march back up the hill. She stowed her axe on her belt and retrieved more arrows from a holder near the guard stand. 

\-------------

As they arrived to the top of the hill, a small smattering of guards remained at the longhouse.

“Turn back pagans! There is nothing for you here.” One of the guards yelled at the approaching Danes, unsheathing his sword. The kingsguard was sorely outnumbered, they made quick work of those outside the great hall. Eivor and Ubba broke open the door. Maeve followed behind them. Pleased that their quest would soon draw to a close. She was growing weary and her arm was hurting more and more with each pull of her drawstring. 

Inside the hall they found… Nothing. Not their intended man for certain. It seemed a last rally of guards had held the throne room to give their king time to flee from the battle like a coward. Maeve wondered what else had slipped by them in the battle din. Annoyance twinged, reigniting her anger. It was never simple with these Saxons was it? Even their alliance with Soma had taken considerable time and effort on their part. 

“Your kind shall never prevail heathen. As long as a true Saxon sits on the throne of-” The last remaining guard was cut off by the arrow that entered his eye socket. Maeve lowered her bow.

“We must search for Bugred before he gets farther away.” She turned and told the others. “Perhaps some trace of his whereabouts still remains.” Maeve said and kicked in the thatched panel of one of the rooms. 

“Ah, straight to the point then. No long interrogations. Raven-hair I could kiss you!” Ivarr exclaimed, turning to Maeve and saluting her with his axe. She rolled her eyes for him to see. He would like that wouldn't he? Sticking his tongue down someone's throat while their quarry drew ever farther from them.

“I will search the village to see if he is hiding.” Ubba said, Sigurd moved to join him. Eivor and Maeve took to search the longhouse. Eivor quickly ascended into the lofts above the main hall. Ivarr sauntered to the throne and quickly plopped himself down on it. 

When Maeve reached the front with her meagre findings she shook her head at his slouching in the throne. There were many other seats in the hall he could have sat in but of course he would choose that one. And of course he would not help the others in their search. As soon as the blood had stopped flowing it seemed his interest had waned. He feigned snoring as she approached and she scoffed.

“Comfortable?” Maeve chided him. His eyes popped open and he smirked at her. 

“I would be far more comfortable with you on your knees before me.” He said, spreading his knees apart. She scowled at him. If she were to cool the lust the battle adrenaline had brought to her body it certainly would not be with  _ him _ and certainly not in the great hall for anyone to see.

As if to release Maeve from his lustful gaze Eivor dropped down from above them. 

“Did you find anything?” Eivor asked them, well, more Maeve. Maeve held out the shipping manifests she had found. 

“Almost nothing.” Maeve said.

“You cannot see where he is with your magic?” Ivarr interrupted, wiggling his fingers as if to mime spells. 

“You could not think that your fool king would tuck tail and run before all those who died lost their lives?” Maeve snapped at him. Eivor glanced between them, the tension not lost on her. 

“I found this.” Eivor said, holding out a correspondence with a large wax seal stamped outside of it.

“That looks like Tonna’s sigil. The double crosser.” Ubba said, returning from the village search with Sigurd and Ceowulf. This was the woman he had been arguing with when Maeve had entered the tent at Repton.

“Well therein we find out lead do we not?” Sigurd said. Ubba agreed.

“We should go to Tonna.” Eivor suggested.

“My sister is right. Tonna will not expect us surely, and there is no love lost between you.” Sigurd said, gesturing to the Ragnarssons. 

“A wise plan.” Ubba agreed.

“A treasure to anyone who brings me that swine's head.” Ivarr commented, getting up from the throne and heading out of the longhouse.

“We shall ride to Tonna at once.” Sigurd promised Ubba, who nodded his approval. Ceowulf took his place at the throne, commending Eivor on keeping his son Ceolbert out of the more damning parts of the fight. 

They left the longhouse. The Ragnarssons and Maeve were bound to Repton and Sigurd and Eivor to Tonna’s camp. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its like 3am where I am as I post this so uhh. God be with y'all till I get a mind to come back through and check my work [Peace emoji]


	3. The One Where They Bone (get it)*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haha horny volur go brrrr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can see so many tropes I just packed into this one. Just know that I know skjdghhksg. 
> 
> I just think Ivarr is an asshole and that charming personality trait would also bleed through to the bedroom. Me when he does it in game: >:( (but also secretly >:3c)

Maeve entered Repton to find many of the vikings celebrating their success at Tamworth. Maeve frowned. She did not feel that they had made any great strides towards success, apart from showing the raven clan’s strength to the brothers. 

Maeve entered the area reserved for the raven clan’s tents. Many were huddled around the fire clutching some manner of alcohol. Maeve rarely imbibed. She hated to dull her senses in any manner especially in a foreign camp with strangers all around. She oiled her bow and stowed it with the guards. She prayed Thor would take it from her and replace it with one more similar to her old one. 

She was still agitated from their battle. All that work just to find out that the petty king had fled in order to hold onto his crown. At least Ceowulf now occupied the town in Bugred’s stead. She threw back the tent flaps and moved to find her place for the night. 

Someone had kindly left a basin of water at the entrance. She wiped the blood stains from her skin. Maeve removed her bracers and corset and untied her hair from its braids. Its curls landed unkempt atop her shoulders.

Rolf whistled from the other end of the tent and tossed her an axe. She caught it and regarded it. It was not hers, for hers was still attached to her belt.

“What is this?” She asked. 

“The Ragnarsson left it for you. He said to watch your ass better since they needed more worms?” One of the others said, obviously not understanding the message. Maeve nodded and examined the axe. It was clearly just something stripped from the dead, hastily given. She thought it strange that he would remember their encounter in the alley enough to send her an axe, even in jest. 

For a courtship it was a strange gift, but not unwelcome. He had made clear his desires for her, jokingly of course, in order to preserve his pride as she rejected him. She flipped the axe around in her palms. The blood rage still boiled in her blood, she was grateful that he had saved her in the alley. As much as she looked forward to joining her ancestors in the corpse hall, she hoped that was yet years to come. 

She could remove the trouble with him from her mind by completing one simple action. She could satisfy him once and for all and then his attentions would wane and she could focus on the mission. Yes, that was it. For the mission of course. She dropped both axes to her bed, not wanting him to see either on her hip. 

“I am going for a walk. Don’t wait up.” Maeve told the raven clan guard who oversaw their mass of tents. 

\--------------

Ivarr looked up from the desk he was dropping his bracers onto as she entered. He seemed to be preparing for bed, his boots were off and his weapons were thrown into a pile next to the furs. She had caught him just before sleep it seemed. 

“Ah volur, come to berate me for our ‘great victory’ at T-” Ivarr began before she cut him off by kissing him roughly. He caught her arms as if to stop her, but when she moved to pull away, he simply gripped her closer. He kissed her back deeply. 

If she thought his touch on the boat was overwhelming, this would be her death. It felt as though a current from a lightning eel connected them. His tongue slipped out to meet hers. His fingers loosened on her arms and she reached for the buckles on his jacket. She felt him smirk against her lips. Her fingers were quick on his fastenings, despite the unfamiliarity of his dress. Any hesitation on her part and she was sure he would send her away. 

He pushed her back to the table in the corner and she stumbled, catching herself from falling by gripping the edge. He growled like a beast and picked her up by the hips, setting her to sit on the edge of the wood. Maeve continued to kiss him, refusing to stop tasting of the desire he sent to her skin. She kicked her boots off and they landed heavily on the floor.

He stood between her legs, taking her hand and pressing it to where he hardened for her. She squeezed him through the soft leather. He was rough, demanding. Like he had been in battle. Maeve gasped for breath when he pulled away to sink his teeth along her neck. He ripped her breeches and smallclothes down her legs, running calloused hands up her thighs once the skin was exposed. 

She forced the rest of the buckles open, letting his jackets fall heavy to the floor. Her hands flew over the planes of his flesh, nails scraping against the dark ink where his tattoos were etched. Her fingertips lightly fluttered over the myriad of scars his body hosted. 

He hissed at her touch and swept the edge of her tunic up and over her head. She moved to help him divest of her coverings and he dove to kiss at her exposed breasts. They were not covered by a binding, as was the norm. She delighted in the expedited pleasure this habit brought her just now. 

Ivarr scraped his teeth and tongue over her nipples. Maeve arched into his touch. The tip of his nose tickled her oversensitive skin. He was fast, knowing exactly what to do to pull the small gasps and groans from her lips as he touched her. She reached out for the buckle of his breeches, unfastening them and pulling them down as far as she could. He stepped out of them without his mouth leaving her skin. She kissed the top of his head where the scar separated his hair from his shaved scalp. 

He stepped back. She thought she had done wrong, perhaps drawing attention to the old wound had damaged his pride. She looked at him, worried of what would happen now. They were both breathing heavy, completely naked before each other. 

Ivarr reached behind her and swept all the objects off the desk. They clattered to the floor, a cacophony of knick knacks careering with the force at which he knocked them about. A stein of mead gushed its contents into the ground. She turned back from the destruction to see him moving towards her again. She braced. 

He tangled one hand into her hair, pulling her back. She felt his fingers as he held her lower back, guiding her down onto the area he had cleared on the desk. He leaned over, kissing her all the way until she settled back on the desk, her toes dangling just above the floor. 

She opened her legs to him, inviting him to step between. Ivarr obliged her and she wrapped her legs above his hips, trying to pull her towards him, reaching out for him. She wanted him to take her wildly with his body like he had with his mouth. He grabbed both her hands in one of his and pinned them to the wood above her head. She waited. He stared. 

She squirmed, vulnerable beneath him. She felt like a mouse in a field, trapped beneath the gaze of a passing owl. He stared down her body, accessing it maybe? It felt like minutes but it was likely mere seconds before he touched her with his other hand, at the apex of her legs, just where her body burned hottest for him. He gently mapped her sex with delicate fingers. 

Maeve bit her lip and let her head fall back as he touched her. He started gentle, exploring her and experimenting with what made her keen for his touch. The smallest of smiles lay at the corner of his mouth as he watched her body flush, felt her legs tremble around his hand. Like a fire, he stoked her until she was blazing, mumbling and begging to let her fall apart for him. 

He just watched, drawing her just to the edge of oblivion and carrying her back down on his hand, with his fingers. She blessed his age for wisdom and damned it for patience. She wanted him rough and ready for her again since this was maddeningly slow. It threatened her sanity. Maeve struggled against where he held her hands. Maybe if she could break free she could pull him close, pull him into her and hold him there until he let her shatter. 

“Do you want me, witch? You’re wet for me you know.” He whispered, moving his slickened fingers in circles on her thigh, letting the air cool the patterns he traced. Maeve’s lip trembled, she did not like to be teased, and would rather irritate him into continuing. She would do anything if it made him continue, actually. She should have gleaned his propensity for torture when they first met. 

“So quiet. Are you getting bored with me, volur? Should I stop?” He asked, removing his hand from her thighs. She struggled harder against his hand and almost broke his grip. He pinned her wrists back against the wood with double the force. He leaned over her, the tip of his tongue tracing the arch of her collarbones. She thought this must be what insanity was like. She would give anything to feel his fingers, anything, against her again. 

“P-please, gods I’m so close.” She whimpered. His head snapped up to look at her. At her words his touch to her center resumed, his fingers curling and twisting, feeling electric again. She would come from this, just a few moments more, she could feel the pleasure beginning to crest. 

“Now she speaks. Interesting…” He growled. His voice was terrible, it twisted into her mind and down between her legs. It spurned her to completion, to fall apart against his hand as his words of mockery. These last few thoughts were drowned out by the white hot surge of rapture blooming from where he touched her. Her back arched up from the wood and she squeezed her eyes shut. 

“Fuck. Fuck!” She moaned as his other hand left her wrists to pull her thigh up around him as he worked her through her climax, keeping her on the edge of too much. Her legs shook, her hip threatened to cramp, but he continued. With trembling hands she pushed his hand off of her, unable to speak. She gasped as she regained her senses and her breath, sittin up to look at him. When she opened her eyes she saw him standing smugly at the edge of the table, his hands on his hips. 

She was somewhat mad at him for his talents. Revenge was coming. She leapt up from the table, like a panther, pouncing. 

She pushed him back onto the furs and he collapsed back against them grinning. He patted his lap, inviting her to sit perhaps. She knelt at his feet, her hair falling over her shoulders, masking her breasts. She scanned his body as he had hers, shameless in her forwardness. 

Instead of forcing her onwards, he simply lay back against the bedding. His eyes were to the sky. He was stroking himself languidly, as if her presence was of no consequence. He feigned boredom. She would give him “boredom.” 

Maeve crawled forward, stopping his hand with her own. He grinned, but did not lean up to look at her. She smirked devilishly and took him into her mouth, watching for his reaction. His eyes shut and he groaned, slipping his fingers into her hair with more delicacy than she could have expected from him. His hips jerked a little, the sense of sudden pleasure overwhelming his control. She could finish him quickly like this. 

“As much as I’d like to fuck your mouth volur, I’d much rather hear you moan as you ride my cock.” He said, breath falling heavy. She supposed they had been delaying the main event beyond their combined patience. She maintained eye contact with him as she crawled up his body, dragging herself against him as she did so. 

She positioned herself over him, feeling him brush against her core. She leaned back, supporting herself with her palms on the fur beside his knees. He licked his lips to see her back arch so, her chest pushed out. His thumb caressed the under-curve of her breast and slipped down to trace the side of her hip. 

Maeve pushed down onto him. She winced at the stretch, rising up and sinking down, taking him deeper with each thrust. The pleasure was treading the line between pain. His hand lay softly on her hip, the other behind his head, watching as she worked to take in the entirety of him. 

She had not thought him a patient man, and yet he watched with lust addled eyes as she worked to accommodate him. He pushed his hips up to her, following the pace she set. Once she had all of him, she rolled her hips a little faster in his lap. 

The feeling of him was magnificent, as was the view. That small smirk of his pleased her in a way it should not. She did not need his approval, but after his exquisite show at the table she wanted it all the same. It was no small feat to tear that grin from Ivarr Ragnarsson. 

Gods, she would come again like this, given the time. Her body needed more of him, so she bounced against him, enjoying the friction as he acclimated to their new pace. Her breasts moved in time with their coupling, a sight that seemed to please him since she felt his fingers briefly tighten on her hip. She was losing her breath once again, chasing the feeling of him moving inside her.

“Will you scream for me volur?” He said, running a hand over her naked chest, mapping the curves. She looked down on him, that challenging glean in his eyes was back. She moved forward and placed her hands on his shoulders, hoping the new angle would shut him up. He chuckled as she bucked against him faster. She felt the rumble of his laugh as if it was poured over her body like water. 

He did not seem in a rush to find his end, but she was. The tent flap was not tied, and while she doubted anyone would come to see him at this hour, there was still the chance. Most of all, she did not want anyone else to find her with him in this way. She would fall out of honor in the clan if insinuations about the alliance’s formation came in regards to their dalliance. 

She hummed in approval as she felt his blunt nails scrape across her body. Maeve had no intention of losing herself to him so thoroughly that his name would echo through Repton. Was it not enough that she had come down to his room at all? He should be content with the gasps and groans he had drawn from her with his hands. 

He seemed displeased with her lack of answer. Ivarr sat up quickly, one hand gripped her neck, the other held her hips still against his. Maeve grimaced at him and tried to keep moving against him. He held her fast, unmoving. 

“I asked you a question. Will you scream?” He purred, slightly tightening his grip on her throat. He was challenging her again, he got off on it, she realized. It was the thrill of the chase that boiled his blood. That's why his touch on the boat had been so shocking, why the electricity had sparked between them in the first place. 

She was not, nor would ever be, easy quarry. 

“Only if you make me.” She managed, prying his fingers from off her throat. She guided two of them into her mouth, swirling her tongue over them slowly. Maeve felt his hips jerk slightly when she met his eyes, his fingers deep in her mouth. She began rolling her hip slowly to him again. He seemed… Surprised almost? Perhaps her boldness had caught him off guard, maybe he had expected her to crumble under his demand. 

With the same speed and skill he showed in battle, he pulled his hand out of her mouth and gripped her harshly by the hips, flipping her quickly back onto the furs. She let out a small cry of pleasure when he drove his hips against her. Her eyes fell closed and she bit her lip, determined not to cry out again as he drew out and thrust hard again. Buried in her at their current angle increased the friction between their bodies. The slip of his sweat slicked skin against hers was arousing still the same. 

He fucked her hard, grunting with the effort. Her back slipped against the bedding. She reached behind her, balling her fist up in the fur, trying to anchor herself against him. It felt like the air right before a thunderstorm. Tension coiled in her body at the precipice of snapping free. She was panting now, trying to control her breathing, trying to control her body’s reactions. Maeve had not imagined being the one to come so soon, or rather, she had not expected such herculean efforts on his part.

She would have to stop underestimating him. 

“Let go volur, let go.” He commanded, breathless in her ear. The rough scrape of his stubble against her cheek in contrast with his soft words had her careering into satisfying his command. 

With a great finality, the coiled rings of tension in her body broke. Pleasure flooded her senses once more. A groan from deep in her chest escaped her lips. She bucked up against him, gripping his shoulders tight as he continued grinding against her, extending the euphoria that consumed her. 

It was as she began to come down that he found his end. He tried to mask his sounds of pleasure from her as he came, hips shuddering. She did not realize that she had been gripping him so hard, and released his shoulders. She felt the drag of her nails as they broke free from his skin. He would be welted, or at the very least scratched come the next morning. 

He was still propped up on an elbow, hand on her hip, catching his breath. She leaned up just enough to brush the tip of her nose against his. The small act of tenderness seemed to snap him out of his haze and he rolled off of her, flopping rather haphazardly onto the furs next to her. 

He did not disappoint. The myth surrounding his moniker did not seem to be for  _ that _ reason at least. 

\-------------

“Was it curiosity that finally brought you to my bed?” He grinned up at her as she collected her clothing. He was lounging shamelessly, naked on the furs. Maeve pulled her underclothing and breeches on up over her hips.

“I told you there was no reason to worry about confusion in the Saxon women about my abilities.” He continued.

Maeve, faced away from him now, wrinkled her nose at the mention of all the Saxon’s he claimed to have fucked. It was poor taste on his part, or more accurately, on hers. She chided herself for finding herself in the tent at this hour, with him out of all the others. Just because she felt the lust that had come from him, didn’t mean she had to indulge it. Gods, she could not even tell Eivor, for how would she explain? She had condemned him as unpredictable and dangerous in their talks. How could she admit to have sought him out under cover of darkness?

“It was the battle lust, nothing more. Do not kid yourself, Ragnarsson.” She said, slipping her tunic back on. 

She was lying, but he did not need to know it. Hopefully he had slaked his lust against her skin enough so that their next touch would not catch her so off guard. She shook her head slightly trying to assure herself that no more touches would be required, even if she did desire them. 

Without waiting for a reaction, she slipped out of his tent. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all ever can't just balls to the wall write smut and have to write like 30 pages of not smut to get to two pages of smut. I need the exposition otherwise it feels like mainstream porn and I throw up a little in my mouth.


	4. To Ledecestre!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go to Ledeceste! When I did this mission I was running all around the quest marker like "where tf is this idiot" then found all those dead bodies and was like "okay, found that idiot." I gotta say I love a man that slaughters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow look ma I wrote the next two chapters. Whoda thunk. (fr tho no one tell my mom she's not allowed to know that I feel)

Eivor and Sigurd’s interview with Tonna went well. For the shockingly high price of 260 silver pieces, Tonna revealed two possible locations for the king to be hiding. Although, Eivor assured them that the price for this information was actually free, since she had snuck back into the camp and “retrieved” their coin, along with a hefty surplus from the camp's vault. 

The five, two strynbjorns kin, two ragnarssons and one Maeve, decided to split up and search both locations concurrently in order to minimize the likelihood of Burgred fleeing to another location under their noses. 

“Maeve, go with Ivarr to Ledecestre. Sigurd, Ubba, and I will take Templebrough. Let’s meet back at Tamworth once the city has been searched.” Eivor commanded. Of course she would be assigned to Ledecestre with Ivarr, of all the luck in the world, it appeared she had none. 

She had not yet told Eivor of her coupling the other night with Ivarr. The later she waited to bring it up, the less likely the drengr was to believe it was simply a tumble in the hay after a good fight. Still, it never seemed the right time.

\-------------

Ledecestre seemed yet another Saxon town that had grown too big for its own good. There were many hiding places a shamed king could crawl into. Maeve hoped that Ivarr had scoped out their quarry already, since he had disembarked right after their decision to split up. Maeve had hovered around Eivor awkwardly, hoping to get her confession out before they separated. She never did manage it. 

Maeve had not actually seen Ivarr or his men in the city yet. Perhaps he was capable of subtlety. She had almost convinced herself when she almost tripped over the corpse of a Saxon guardsman. There were a few of them all at the base of a watchtower in a puddle of blood. 

Maeve flipped the body over with her foot. It rolled bonelessly. Sure enough, an axe mark oozing crimson gore was embedded into the leather gambeson of the guard. Although, it didn't seem to be the axe wound that had killed him... She looked up the side of the tower. Of course he would. She jumped up to grip an arrowslit in the tower’s side and began the climb. 

\-------------

Ivarr stood at the edge of the overlook, surveying the town. Maeve hauled herself up over the edge and leaned against the wall to catch her breath. He glanced over as she folded a clump of hair behind her ear. 

“Ah, volur. I wondered when you would arrive. Did you get my signal?” He grinned.

“Not so much a signal as a bright bloody beacon of bodies.” She replied. 

“I love it when you talk dirty.” He simpered, walking over to stand over her. She rolled her eyes.

“So what's the deal? Is Burgred here or not?” She asked.

“Well, there’s been plenty of wagon movement and his soldiers are roosted in well. He’s here. I’m sure of it. I sent a scout to check the church and the bathhouse. They should be back any moment now.” He explained. Maeve nodded and stretched her legs out in front of her, just to the side of him. The corners of his mouth twitched as he surveyed her body.

“You know, it might be a moment still before my scout is back, what would you say to-” 

“Ivarr…” She warned as he ran his hand up the side of her leg. He removed his hand. All the better too. Since she needed to focus on the mission, not him. She was surprised that he still held interest. 

Maeve had planned that after leaving his tent that night she would fade into the background of his mind, never a thought again. Perhaps he could fade to the back of hers. Although, today her body cried out for indulgence, much in the way the headache after a night of drinking would only subside when one imbibed again. Forget each other indeed. The others had certainly made sure that was not the case when they paired them up on this mission to Ledecestre. 

She did not want to get caught with him. They had been lucky the first time. The spy could return at any moment. Still… It was nice to know that he was there to luxuriate in the pleasures of the flesh again should she be keen. But if they were to successfully capture Burgred, another romp would have to wait.

“You know, there would be a lot less to do if we stuck to killing kings rather than making them. That's on Ubba” Ivarr complained. 

“I’m not here to take sides.” Maeve commented, leaning up from the side of the tower. “I think time’s up for your scout. He should be back by now.” Maeve said, walking to the overlook.

Ivarr tssked. “Give him a chance.” 

“I’m not risking the guards catching wind of our presence and Burgred fleeing again. You may wait here for your scout.” Maeve said, climbing over the side of the tower. 

“Orders from you? Kick back a little.” He said as she lowered herself down the side of the wall again. 

\-------------

Maeve decided to search the bathhouse first. It seemed more likely to hold the sort of comforts a king such as Burgred would desire. She dropped into the great building from a window above. There were plenty of guards at the ground floor, but no Burgred. There were rooms in the bathhouse she could search. It would be wiser indeed for him to stay out of sight as they looked for him. 

She slunk through the bathhouse like a cat stalking a mouse. The rooms were filled with all sorts of supplies, the kind a king could live off of for years. But among all the riches she had not found a single man. She rolled out a shipping manifest and heard something scuffle in the dirt behind her. Nocking an arrow at lightning speed she spun around to see-

“Ceolbert?” Maeve asked, lowering her bow. “You’re Ivarr’s scout?” The boy squinted in the dark, realizing she was not there to hurt him.

“You’re Maeve, the magician from the Ravenclan.” He said.

“I’m not a-It's not-What are you doing here?” She demanded.

The young boy hung his head. “I hoped to find Burgred and talk to him and end all this death. But he’s not here.” He said. 

“Not here? Are you sure?” Maeve asked, thinking to the impressive amount of wealth she had found in the other rooms. 

“I’m sure. Burgred’s lieutenant Leofrith passed this way. I heard him say they were only stockpiling food here. But! He did say to send more men to Burgred’s wife. It seems she's in Templebrough.” He explained. 

“Good work atheling. If the lady is in Templebrough, then I’m sure the others will find and return her to Tamw-” Maeve was interrupted by the sounds of battle outside the bathhouse. 

She groaned. Ivarr it seemed, had not opted for stealth yet again. Ceolbert turned and ran out of the room. She drew her bow. What was it with these two?

“Ceolbert! Where are you going?” Maeve hissed and ran after him. If he fell in her sight she would be Helheim bound for sure. 

“I know my way around. Quick! To the market!” Ceolbert said, sliding down a ladder to the bathhouse floor. Maeve fired arrows down onto the soldiers who had just realized their fortress was not as impenetrable as it had seemed. She cursed and followed after the atheling as he ran out into the streets. She could hear Ivarr yelling from somewhere but could not make out his words. 

The guards had definitely been clued in that something was amiss. Maeve chased after the child through Ledecestre. It seemed as though he had not yet realised that these men were far from country men. They were there to defend their current king from the usurpers. The boy himself would be seen as one of them no matter his age. 

“Ceolbert!” Maeve yelled as she fired an arrow at a guard who had been running towards them with his sword raised. “Draw your sword!” She commanded as he looked down in shock at the body of the man who had been charging them. With shaking hands he did as she commanded. 

They were in the marketplace now. Ivarr’s warriors seemed to have engaged the entirety of the city's guard force. 

“T-there's so many!” Ceolbert said as he surveyed the scene. 

“Stay close boy!” Maeve commanded and began raining arrows down upon the guards. They fell quickly under practiced viking swords. She could hear Ceolbert hitting true. At the very least the boy could defend himself. 

Soon enough, all the city guards were dead or dying. Peasants scurried into their houses and bolted the doors.

Maeve retrieved her arrows from the bodies of the deceased. What a waste. They could have been in and out with no bloodshed had that stupid man held off long enough for Maeve to return with Ceolbert. Now the anxiety of Burgred’s guards had been piqued. That meant wherever he was, the guard force would increase as well. 

She glanced back at the atheling. He had a few minor scrapes and bruises but seemed no more worse for the wear. He anxiously scoured the battlefield as if he was looking for something. 

“Ivarr?” Ceolbert asked one of the warriors. Many of the vikings shook their head. At the very least, he did not seem to be laying littered in with the dead. He had probably ran off away from the frey on some hare-brained goose chase. 

“I’ll find him.” Maeve assured the boy. Despite their stark differences, the kid seemed worried after the practiced drengr. 

Maeve certainly hoped she found him first. She had a bone to pick with the fool. He never should have charged in knowing full well the child was somewhere in a hostile city. It was as if he wanted the atheling gone. Maeve followed what could be seen as a path of bodies out of the market. 

  
  



	5. Fair's Fair*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, she found him!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: coitus interruptus or whatever. I mostly just wanted to traumatize that boy some more because why not. 
> 
> Ivarr praise kink maybe??? Buy my silence via posting Ivarr fic so I don't have to write it myself.

A door to a storehouse slammed shut and her vision snapped to it. She snuck through the streets, wary of any guard reinforcements. She peeked through the open window to the storehouse. Ivarr was laying on the ground, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. A beefy guard stood over him, flipping Ivarr’s axe over. Maeve hauled herself through the window, using the guards' confusion to nock and fire an arrow into his eye. 

Ivarr stood up from the ground as Maeve walked over to the guard. She pulled the arrow out of his eye and wiped it on a cloth bag. Ivarr scoffed at the attempt of tidiness.

“Now we’re even.” Maeve grinned, setting her bow on an accounting desk. Ivarr ignored her comment. He looked around the room, as if he was still expecting the fearful king to be cowering in some corner. Maeve leaned against the desk.

“Burgred’s not here but his wife is in Templebrough” She told him.

“I know, turn around.” He said, closing distance. 

“What?” She scoffed. 

“I said turn around. I want to fuck you before the others come looking for us.” He commanded. 

Her mouth fell open in shock before she snapped it closed. The battle had not ended but moments ago. The heat from his gaze scorched her. He put a hand behind her neck and pulled her forward to kiss him. She hummed and tried to pull away but he caught her bottom lip in his teeth. His mouth still tasted like blood. She put a hand on his chest in warning. He released her. 

“Turn around.” He demanded. 

She obliged him, starting to undo the ties on her breeches. He shoved his hand roughly into her pants, pushing her thighs into the wood of the desk as he pressed himself against her backside. She gasped as his fingers curled to where she was becoming wet for him. Her hands left her laces, grabbing the other edge of the table so she could lean back to him. 

She couldn’t feel him through the layers but he seemed able to feel her, since he was groaning as he ground against her ass. She could feel the first few sparks of mounting pleasure right before his fingers left her body. She licked her lips as she heard the fastenings of his trousers and jackets jingle. She felt him ease her trousers and underwear down her legs. 

He let them rest just low enough for their purposes. He touched her pale skin softly. The gentleness of his touch seemed a contradiction to everything else. She shivered despite the warmth of the room.Then he was grinding against her, not entering just yet, but teasing her with the heft of his cock. 

She was wet enough, and irritated by his hesitation.

“Taking your time Ragnarsson?” She teased, hoping to clue him in on her desires. She wanted to make good on his promise. To fuck her before the others found them. Although, it was thrilling to have a time expectation. 

“I just don’t want you to get used to me spoiling you.” He said. She scoffed.

“Spoiling me how-oh!” She whimpered, biting down on her knuckle as he entered her. The stretch was wonderful and she struggled to contain the noises he seemed to pull from her effortlessly. She sucked in a deep breath as she acclimated once more to his size. 

“Let me hear you, witch.” He commanded and moved her hand away from her mouth and back to the edge of the table. She dug her nails into the wood. He felt bigger this way, from behind. Her breeches were keeping her from opening her legs more, perhaps this was purposeful on his part.

“Do you need me to moan to get off, Ivarr the  _ boneless _ ?” She teased him. 

“You have a wicked mouth, woman.” He snarled and slipped his hand between her legs, touching her like he had before. She whimpered at his touch, but offered nothing more. He used his hand that held her hip to pull her back to him, increasing the speed at which he fucked her. 

Her body accepted him, greedy for the feeling of him filling her again. She let out a tentative whimper. Fitting her expectations, his fingers grew rougher on her clit. It seemed like an unspoken reward for her compliance with his command. She let out a deeper moan. He sped up the snap of his hips against her ass. 

She cursed, wondering just how much she could spurn him on by indulging his fantasy of her becoming a mewling mess for him. He was impossibly controlled. The bastard. How did she get  _ him  _ to let go of the control. She wouldn't mind hearing him more...

“Ah! Oh!” She yelped as the sounds of flesh meeting filled the storeroom. She focused on the feeling of him sliding against her. She dug her nails deeper into the desk, which was now creaking in protest of their endeavors. 

They heard the door creak open. They both reached for the ax buried into the wood of the table before they realised the intruder was simply a very embarrassed atheling. 

“I-I’m sorry. I-I thought Maeve was hurt-” He tried to explain. She wondered if he fully understood the scene he had barged into. Surely he had to. Moans of pleasure could be mistaken for pain but she could think of no other activity two people enjoyed so thoroughly against a desk. Perhaps he was confused by the participants in this activity. 

“Out boy!” Ivarr barked, dislodging the axe from the desk. He threw it at the boy, it stuck true into the door jamb beside his head.

“Y-yes, s-sorry!” Ceolbert stuttered, slamming the door behind himself. 

Maeve smiled a little as she felt Ivarr’s hands snake back down to her hips as he started thrusting again. He wasn’t one to be deterred. She looked past the embarrassment of being discovered and tried to reorient back into pleasure. 

“Maeve eh? I wondered what your name was.” He grunted from behind her. 

“How does the boy know my name and you didn’t? You could have asked.” She joked. The humor of the situation was not lost on her. He was currently  _ in _ her, for the second time no less, without ever having asked her name. In honesty, neither her or her compatriots had offered it. 

“Eh, I’m not one for asking,  _ Maeve _ .” He managed, moving his right hand back to the space between her legs. She groaned and rocked into his touch. 

“A-arent you the one asking to hear me come apart for you.” She managed to stammer as his fingers coaxed the mounting climax from her body.

He chuckled and fucked her harder. The desk was creaking harder now, scooting ever so slightly against the cobblestone floor. 

“And will you?” He asked. 

“W-hat?” She moaned, she was almost there and yet he seemed hell bent on bringing her back to the realm of consciousness. 

“Will you come apart for me? I feel that you're close,  _ Maeve _ .” He growled into her ear. Once again, the words that so maddened her would be her undoing. She breathed his name as she came, perhaps that was what he was after. 

“Mmm, Ivarr…” She sighed again as he kept working her with his hand and fucking her through her climax. 

Maybe that was indeed his desire, for shortly after her, he came with a few shallow thrusts and a groan of pleasure. His fingers hesitated between her legs before finally stopping. She could hear him collecting his breathing behind her. He pulled out carefully, tenderly. 

He let his hands slip slowly over her skin as he reached down to pull her trousers back up her legs. His touch was hesitant, almost reverent. The sweetness of his caring didn't sit right with her. It was too out of character. She stood up from the desk, turning as she moved to tie the laces to her pants. 

Ivarr didn’t meet her eyes as he righted himself in his clothes. He seemed embarrassed by the moment of tenderness. 

“We sure traumatized the boy ey?” He asked. Worry flooded Maeve’s mind. Shit, now the boy knew. Would he tell Ubba or Eivor? Or, possibly worse, his father? She would have to talk to the kid, if he was even able to meet her eyes after that scene...

“You should be thankful you still have a boy to traumatize. What were you thinking charging in like that? He could have been killed.” She said. Ivarr waved away her comment with a hand.

“He was fine, and now he has some battle scars to tell the tale.” Ivarr said. Straightening up and turning to leave the building. Maeve grabbed her bow from the table and followed after him.

“How could you send the boy into this hornets nest?” Maeve demanded as they exited out onto the street. 

“He didn’t send me, I sent myself.” Ceolbert said, walking up to them. Ivarr gestured to the boy in support of his point.

“Have you been-? Were you waiting here?” Maeve asked. The boy blushed a deep crimson.

“I-I wanted to make sure he didn't hurt you.” The boy tried, sheepishly. 

“Don’t worry for her sake, Ceolbert.” Ivarr said, winking at Maeve. “I am more worried that you didn't find a woman to take for yourself after the battle.” He suggested. Maeve scoffed.

“Ceolbert, go back to Repton. I’ll ride to Tamworth to see how our other team fared.” Maeve said. 

“You would send him away so soon? But we have corpses to loot!” Ivarr said, walking back to the square as if their mission was of little consequence. Maeve huffed in frustration and stomped to the East gate. 

Ceolbert looked between the two, struggling with the decision of who to follow. He eventually jogged to catch up to Ivarr. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its 2:30am and the word Ceolbert looks wrong. Someone help

**Author's Note:**

> BRO WORM GRUNTING/CHARMING IS A REAL THING DID YOU KNOW THAT??? I AM LITERALLY OBSESSED: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ILoGcSxCAY&feature=emb_logo 
> 
> I can't do it irl but also I haven't tried because if I can't I'll be angy... 
> 
> P.S. I'm notorious for not finishing fics so don't get attached to this storyline please asdfghjlk.


End file.
